


some kind of specimen

by rednexttoblack



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Alcohol, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Michael is repressed, Sandy Shores, Sexual Tension, implied past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:28:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24395044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rednexttoblack/pseuds/rednexttoblack
Summary: 'This isn’t a movie, Michael. And if it was, you sure as hell wouldn’t be the good guy.’
Relationships: Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips
Comments: 12
Kudos: 77





	some kind of specimen

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first thing i've posted on here, so i hope you like it! comments appreciated :)
> 
> (also i'm from the uk so please tell me if i accidentally made one of them use a british word or something)

They’ve only been in Sandy Shores for two days, but Michael appears to have quickly reverted back to his usual state - sitting outside in the sun, getting drunk, and feeling sorry for himself. Trevor’s leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe, watching Michael as he sits on the steps, head resting against the handrail. He isn’t sure how long he’s been staring at the back of Michael’s head. Normally he’s not one to stay still for extended periods of time, but there’s something mesmerising about the sight of Michael staring into the distance. Trevor feels like a scientist observing some kind of specimen, waiting for it to do something. Michael is so goddamn _static_. He occasionally lifts his arm to take a swig from a bottle clutched in his right hand - it appears to be whiskey, although Trevor can’t really tell from this angle – but apart from that, he just sits, frozen, staring into space. Trevor wonders what’s going on in that stupid little brain of Michael’s. Probably thinking about himself, no doubt. Trevor scratches his chest idly, listening to the rhythm of Michael’s breath as it mingles with unfamiliar voices shouting in the distance.

And there it is, at last – a movement. Michael turns his head around, flinching when he sees Trevor behind him. ‘Christ, T!’ His initial look of shock is quickly replaced by embarrassment and anger. ‘How long have you been standing there? You nearly gave me a goddamn heart attack.’

Trevor just shrugs, raises his eyebrows. ‘Yeah, well. It’s only a matter of time before that heart of yours gives out, anyway.’

Michael groans, rubbing his eye with his free hand. ‘Fuck off. Haven’t you got better things to do than stand around staring at me, you creep?’

‘Michael!’ Trevor crosses his arms, frowning. ‘The disrespect! I have graciously welcomed you into my abode and you repay me by _insulting_ me?’

Michael stands up, exertion visible on his face. He looks older than his age, frown lines etched deep into his forehead as he glares at Trevor. ‘Yeah, okay, forgive me if I’m a bit _tetchy_ , but I think it’s justified. You know damn well I wouldn’t be in this mess if you weren’t such a fuckin’…’ He trails off, shaking his head. ‘I don’t even know what you are, Trevor, but this is your fuckin’ fault. I could be back at home right now, watching a movie, enjoying myself. Instead I’m stuck here in a piece of shit trailer, burning to death in this fuckin’ heat with a hostage and a goddamn psychopath.’

Trevor snorts. ‘Oh, stop complaining. You’re such a baby. It’s exactly the same here as it would be anywhere else. Instead of whinging and drinking yourself to death in your ugly billion-dollar Los Santos mansion, you’re going to have to whinge and drink yourself to death in Trevor Philips’ front yard for a while instead. Yeah, sounds like _such_ a fuckin’ hardship.’ Trevor runs a hand through his greasy hair. ‘I’ve gotta hand it to you, though; at least you’re consistent. I like that in a man.’

Michael rolls his eyes. ‘Whatever, T.’ He pushes past Trevor, entering the trailer.

Trevor, of course, follows him. He likes riling him up – it feels good to get a reaction out of him. Aside from the fact that it’s just plain entertaining, he also likes to see Michael having an authentic response to something. He can’t stand that cool, collected façade he puts on. Trevor grins, slow and sarcastic. ‘Oh, running away, now, are we? Looks like someone can’t stand it when they’re wro-ong.’

‘Look, I’m not in the mood for your bullshit, alright?’ Michael flops down onto the couch, still clutching the bottle of whiskey. ‘It’s too hot. And I’m tired. Just drop it.’

Trevor snatches the bottle out of Michael’s grasp, watching gleefully as Michael’s expression hardens. Michael opens his mouth to protest, but Trevor gets there first. ‘Ah-ah-ah. You drink too much, porkchop. It’s not good for you.’ He throws his head back, swigging from the bottle, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Ah, that’s good stuff.’ He smacks his lips. ‘Oh, yeah. Hmm…I’m detecting notes of juniper… and hazelnut… and… ah, what’s that? Tastes like…’ He looks at Michael with a devilish smirk. ‘Oh, of _course_. Yeah. That’s your _saliiiva_ , sweetheart. Very distinctive. Mm. Really adds to the overall effect, y’know.’

Michael sighs. ‘You’re so goddamn weird, T.’

Trevor nearly gets angry, then. God knows he would’ve if it had been anyone else. But there’s a note of affection in Michael’s voice that calms Trevor. He leans in towards him, still smirking. ‘And you’re a fat, traitorous, loveless snake with a family who hates your guts and a receding fuckin’ hairline. Tell me something I don’t know.’

Surprisingly, this just makes Michael laugh. It’s a short, sharp bark, nothing truly real, but it’s still good to hear. ‘You’re one to talk. Have you seen your hair? Looks like a goddamn rat’s nest. What’s left of it, anyway.’

Trevor gasps dramatically, stumbling backwards as if mortally wounded. ‘Again with the insults! Michael! Did your mother never teach you any manners?’

‘I could ask you the same thing.’

Trevor frowns. He lets the silence hang in the air for a few seconds. _Now_ he’s angry. His voice comes out quiet and menacing. ‘Don’t you fuckin’ talk about my mother like that.’

Michael shifts on the couch, sighing again. ‘Fuck’s sake, T. I didn’t even say anything.’

‘My mother taught me manners, thank you! You ugly fuckin’ rat! How dare you! My mother taught me everything I know!’ Trevor’s practically shaking with anger, now, jabbing his finger in Michael’s face.

‘Yeah, alright, alright. Jesus. Calm down.’ Michael stands up and grabs the whiskey back out of Trevor’s outstretched hand. He immediately sits back down on the couch, tilting the bottle up –

But Trevor’s hands are on it before Michael can even put his lips to the bottle. He pulls it away again, holding it up above his head like a playground bully stealing lunch money. The anger has faded as quickly as it appeared, and now all that remains on his face is a taunting smile.

‘T, for fuck’s sake, stop acting like a goddamn child –’

‘Michael, I _told_ you! It’s not good for you! I’m not going to watch you sit there and drink like a fuckin’ zombie for hours on end. Live a little, huh? Go and _do_ something. Jesus.’ Despite the playful expression on his face, Trevor’s eyes are hard. He means it.

Michael looks at him as if he’s insane. ‘The fuck is wrong with you? Why do you suddenly care about this? It’s not as if you’re a paragon of health, Trevor – Christ, if anyone should be lecturing anyone about their life choices –’

‘What the hell happened to you?’ Trevor’s voice suddenly becomes more solemn. He shakes his head, looking Michael deep in the eyes. ‘You used to want to _do_ things. You used to be interesting, Michael. That’s why I liked you. Never wanted to be in the same place for too long, always on the move, always ready to do something. Now you just sit on your fat fuckin’ ass and drink and mope around and you’re _boring_ , Michael, _God_ , you’re fuckin’ _boring_.’

Michael stares back at Trevor, eyes narrowed. ‘So fuckin’ what? Maybe I want to be boring.’ He leans back, breaking eye contact. ‘People change. I’m old, Trevor. So are you. We’re not kids anymore.’

Trevor doesn’t really know how to respond. He flounces over to the other side of the room, muttering to himself. That goddamn snake. They’re not _old_. Trevor scrapes his boot on the floor, then slowly lifts his arm up, holding the bottle out towards Michael. He looks down at the floor. ‘Whatever. Take it.’

Michael gets up slowly, moving towards Trevor like one might approach a wild animal. Michael lifts his hand up to take the bottle, and –

Trevor lifts it out of reach. He cackles giddily, twirling around. ‘Too slow, old man!’ His voice is mocking, singsong. ‘Come on, Mikey! Mr Quarterback! Wow, it’s no wonder your football career went up in flames if that’s the best you’ve got.’ He just wants to get something authentic out of Michael. He wants to see passion, sadness, _something_.

And there it is. Trevor sees it, the flame of anger burning in Michael’s blue eyes. And suddenly Michael’s hands are on Trevor’s shoulders and Trevor is being pushed backwards and there’s a sickening crack as his head hits the wall. Michael’s breath is hot on Trevor’s face. ‘You’re a fuckin’ child! You goddamn lunatic, Christ! Can’t you just be a normal human being for one fuckin’ second! Fuckin’ – Jesus, Trevor, stop _smiling_!’

Trevor can’t help it. The pain throbbing in his skull and the intensity of Michael’s gaze – God, he feels _alive_. He licks his lips impishly. ‘Y’know, M, this feels… familiar. You pushing me up against a wall, I mean.’ He places his hands on Michael’s waist, rubbing his thumbs on a strip of exposed skin.

Horror washes over Michael’s face. He jumps backwards as if he’s been burnt. ‘What the fuck?’

Trevor cocks his head to one side. ‘I didn’t say stop.’

A red blush creeps up Michael’s neck. ‘Don’t do this, Trevor. Why d’you always have to – it was never – fuck.’ Michael breathes out heavily, clenching his fists. ‘You always have to make things weird.’

‘Oh, stop it. Calm the hell down. Don’t try and fuckin’ deny it.’

‘Fuck off.’ Suddenly, Michael stops, standing completely still. ‘Oh. So that’s what this is about, is it? Huh?’ Another short, sharp laugh. ‘Actually, that would make a whole lot of sense. All your going on about how I’ve changed, about how I used to be _fun_. You can’t let go, can you? You’re stuck in the fuckin’ past.’ Michael runs his hands through his hair, clutching the back of his neck. ‘We’re not kids anymore, alright? And I’m not just gonna – we can’t…’ He looks upwards as if requesting God’s help. ‘We can’t do that shit anymore.’

‘Do what? What ‘shit’?’ Trevor questions, mock innocence plastered all over his face.

Michael looks lost for words. ‘I… you know. Come on, T.’

Trevor smiles - a terrifying, animalistic grin. ‘You can’t even say it. You can’t even _say_ it, you bitch.’

‘Trevor…’

‘You’re a goddamn coward.’ Trevor steps towards Michael. ‘You can’t even admit it to yourself.’

‘There’s nothing to admit, Trevor.’ They stand in silence for a while, but eventually the intensity of Trevor’s stare forces words out of Michael’s mouth. He scratches his arm. ‘Look, it wasn’t ever… serious, anyway. We were just kids, T, we -’

‘Stop saying that!’ Trevor gestures wildly, volume increasing as he speaks. ‘You’re the one who’s stuck in the fuckin’ past, y’know. Still trying to live out some stupid childhood dream. Beautiful wife, cute little kids, white picket fence. This isn’t a movie, Michael. And if it was, you sure as hell wouldn’t be the good guy.’ He moves closer towards Michael, jabbing him in the chest with a finger. ‘For once in your life, stop playin’ pretend! We fucked, Michael. All the time. And you fuckin’ loved it. You absolutely fuckin’ _loved_ it –’

‘Trevor –’

‘Oh, you used to _beg_ me for it. The way you’d _moan_ , Mikey, oh my God. _‘Harder, T, please, fuck, don’t stop!’_ ’ The finger he had pointed accusingly at him is now trailing down his chest. ‘And you miss it. I know you do.’

Michael just stares at him, eyes stony, his face flushed. When he speaks, his voice is low. ‘That was a long time ago.’

‘Don’t you think I fuckin’ know that?’ Trevor snaps. ‘I know it was a long goddamn time ago, Michael, because while you were off playing happy families with Amanda, decomposing in Los Santos and pretending you were happy, what was I doing? What was little ol’ Trevor Philips doing? Oh, right – I was _mourning_ you. Every single day, mourning you. So, yeah, I know it was a long fuckin’ time ago. You don’t have to tell me.’

Michael sighs again, looking secretly relieved at the change of topic. ‘I’m not having this argument again. Look, I know I fucked up, alright? How many times do I have to tell you?’

‘Damn right you fucked up.’

There is an icy silence. Trevor realises he’s still holding the bottle of whiskey, so he takes another swig, relishing the burn in the back of his throat. He fixes his gaze on Michael again, his voice quiet. ‘And you can’t tell me it was never serious. Maybe in your stupid fantasy world we were just drunk or high or desperate or whatever, but… it wasn’t like that. And you know it.’ He flattens his palm against Michael’s chest, smirking slightly as he feels Michael’s heart slamming against his rib cage.

Michael doesn’t do anything, doesn’t even show any emotion aside from the ebbing and flowing of his erratic heartbeat. They stand there for a while, a frozen tableau, Trevor’s hand on Michael’s chest, their eyes locked. It feels like a standoff. Perhaps they’re waiting for someone to break eye contact; Trevor isn’t sure.

Eventually, Trevor breaks the silence. He leans in to whisper in Michael’s ear, lips almost brushing skin. ‘Run out of protests, huh, cowboy?’ Trevor’s voice is playful, gravelly.

Michael still doesn’t speak, but Trevor feels his heart pick up speed. Trevor leans in further, pressing his body up against Michael’s, relishing the heat radiating off him. ‘That’s alright. I can do the talking for you, baby.’ He leans closer, pressing his mouth to Michael’s neck, breathing in the smell of his sweat - 

And then Michael is pushing Trevor away, angry once again. ‘Stop! T, can you just - I’m married, for fuck’s sake!’

Trevor shrugs. ‘That’s never stopped you before. Never stopped your wife, either, actually.’

Michael just glares at Trevor, red all over, clenching and unclenching his fists. ‘Fuck you. I’m leaving.’ He turns around and stomps out the door, slamming it behind him.

‘Who’s the one acting like a toddler now, huh?’ There’s a hint of disappointment in Trevor’s voice as he shouts after Michael, but Trevor makes no effort to stop him, leaning against the counter as he watches him go.

The trailer feels too big and too quiet, now. After all that noise, all that heat. Trevor kicks the fridge with his boot, hard, just for something to fill the silence. He feels sad, suddenly. Lonely.

But, then again, Michael will be back soon. Trevor just has to wait.


End file.
